The “moonset”

The afternoon sun shined through the pollution, gently and weakly reaching my living room.

I stood up and walked to the window, thinking that there was something different about today’s sunlight. Then I saw the moon blocking the sun, making it a perfect crescent-shaped burning fire. I found my camera quickly, trying to record this significant moment with insignificant man-made technology.

I looked down. On the street people were walking fast in the cold; in the school field several students were playing basketball. I then thought of the ancient time when people ran and screamed and prayed in extreme fear during an eclipse. Science made us secure, or did it just make us feel secure? I wonder if modern knowledge has given us more fear and respect for the unknown or made our confidence expand to a dangerous level.

Things that happened in my recent life have brought this heavy layer of unidentified fear and doubt and unpeacefulness, hovering over my heart for days. Tim’s grandfather passed away just a few days after we returned to China, just a few days after he held me with one arm, and said with effort, “…Bye!” I’ve only met him several times, but right now I feel this big empty hole in my heart.

I never had my own grandfather. My mom’s dad passed away when I was little, leaving me nothing but very vague memories. My dad’s dad died during Cultural Revolution; I know him through many stories told by my dad and this confused angry feeling toward that historical time. But about this granddad, this American granddad, my feelings are more normal and real. He had a stroke in his forties and barely talked since then; he didn’t walk much either in recent years. His wife and children took care of him for fifty years. Everyday, he would get up and dress up: shirt, pants, belt, shiny leather shoes. Tim told me what granddad taught him without words is dignity, one’s attitude when facing the world, which has nothing to do with your living status.

Tim said he misses him, but he knows that he’s free now. I then thought of my grandmother and the morning when I escorted her body back to her hometown. It was cold, the red sun was rising behind tree branches from afar. I felt this weird sense of release and whispered in her ear: can you see this? You are free now. Her face looked peaceful, her skin felt cold.

We can’t control things that happen in our lives. They can be as beautiful as a sunrise or as horrible as an earthquake. The universe has a sense of humor and wisdom that we cannot perceive. But what we can do is to put on our shiny leather shoes and confront them with dignity.

I put down the camera, watching the half-sun going down. Without the everyday routine look, it is grinning at me with a giant smily face.